


Synaesthesia

by c000kiesandcream



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Canon Compliant, Colourblind Soulmates, Love, M/M, Platonic Soulmates, Pre-Canon, Soulmates, True Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-26
Updated: 2017-03-08
Packaged: 2018-09-26 16:57:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9912269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/c000kiesandcream/pseuds/c000kiesandcream
Summary: synaesthesiaˌsɪnɪsˈθiːzɪə/noun: synaesthesia; noun: synesthesiathe production of a sense impression relating to one sense or part of the body by stimulation of another sense or part of the body.Colours fade as children grow, and the only way to bring them back is to find true love.





	1. Being Beige

**Author's Note:**

> I absolutely love the soulmate AU I have seen so many times on Tumblr, where the world is black and white until you meet your soulmate. (If anyone has the source for this, I'm not sure where I first saw it!!)  
> I wanted to create a world where this is a multi-faceted condition, that can change and fluctuate. I also can't help myself when it comes to fanfic, and I had to get this down.

All children are born with the ability to see in colour.

This is because all they know is love.

And love manifests itself in more ways than one. The love of their mother or father, their friends, their childhood sweetheart.

They only know the technicolour that surrounds them. Dense green forests, dappled with red berries in the summer while yellow bumble bees dance among the petals; the blue-green sea that crashes against white, sandy beaches lined with pastel painted huts and littered with rainbow striped parasols; the lightening flash of a firework, sparkling as an array of coloured glitter scatters across the black night sky. Life in technicolour is interesting, dynamic, and it's very easy to take it for granted when it's all you've ever known.

But, of course, all good things must come to an end.

The definition of true love changes as we grow. For some children, the change comes earlier than others. Perhaps the loss of a family member, or a pet, or even a friend moving away kick starts the change, drowning their technicolour world in a sepia toned blanket. While this trauma often leaves its own emotional mark, the loss of colour is the hardest to adapt to at such a young age.

However, by the age of 11, almost every child will start to notice that their world is growing dark. The sky is more often than not a dull grey, and the sunlight dodges the green foliage, leaving the lush leaves to fight against grey splodges expanding over their surface. Red is the very first colour a child can recognise, but it is also the first colour to leave them. Slowly, gradually, the rainbow fades to nothing. The world around them becomes a black and white monochrome. By the time the transformation is complete, the children have become adults, and as their perception of colour changes, so does their perception of love.

Victor Nikiforov was seven when he started to notice the colour fading from his vision. He couldn’t understand what was happening, and it wasn’t until his teacher, Lilia Baranovskaya, saw his drawings that anyone noticed there was a problem. One day, she asked him to stay in over lunch to help her pack away, giving her the chance to ask him privately.

“So, Vitya, did you enjoy colouring today?” She asked carefully, watching out of the corner of her eye for his reaction. He blinked, not looking up from the pile of drawings he was collecting for her.

“Not really, Ms Baranovskaya,” he admitted, a tear escaping the corner of his eye and splashing against the paper in his hands. The water bled through the red heart that he could not see, tracing a line of ink down the blank white page. He smudged it with his finger, and Lilia laid a hand against his shoulder.

“Why was that?” She asked, head tilted to the side as she considered his expression. He froze, shoulders clenched tightly as more tears fell from his lashes. Frustrated at himself, he dropped the papers, clenching his fists and pressing them into his eyes. His sobs echoed around the now empty classroom while his teacher watched helplessly. After a while, he calmed himself down, shaking his hair out of his face as he spoke.

“Colours are g-going grey, and I-I don’t know wh-why. I l-like the c-colours, I don’t w-want them to go away,” he stuttered, his breath coming in rasps as he tried to speak through his sobs. Lilia tutted.

“Oh, Vitya,” she whispered, taking her hand from his shoulder and stroking his long hair out from his face carefully. “It’s okay, I promise.”

Victor didn’t believe her, but he nodded anyway.

“I’ll call your uncle, and he can take you home for the day, okay? And don’t worry about coming in tomorrow,” she smiled, guiding him from the classroom delicately. Her hand was warm between Victor’s shoulders, and his eyes wandered around what was usually the brightly coloured corridor. The teachers had worked hard to create a headache of colours around the school, immersing the children in a brilliant array of jungle scenes, with 3D plants and animals leaping from the walls. Today, however, Victor wanted nothing more than to bury his face in his hands, ignoring the changing landscapes around him.

Lilia sat with him in the reception area until his uncle turned up, and the second he stepped in the room, her expression changed. It hardened slightly, but her eyes glistened in the sunlight. The pale blue scarf wrapped around his neck flickered into life before her eyes. Blinking through the watery feeling behind her eyes, she looked back down to Victor, who was clutching at the folds of her red and green skirt. The red bounced along the material as the wind from the doorway blew the scent of his uncle's cologne into her senses. It was musky, and masculine, and she could smell the hint of tobacco on his breath when he spoke. 

“Vitya, are you hurt?” he knelt down to speak to the child, who immediately launched himself into the soft scarf around his neck.

“U-Uncle Yakov, it’s th-the colour, i-it’s-” Victor’s voice hitched as he spoke, eventually breaking down to just a few sharp sobs. The sound was wet and upsetting, but Yakov’s face remained straight. His eyes glanced up at the teacher, and he blinked the colour away as he spoke to her.

“Hello, Ms Baranovskaya, thank you for calling me,” he muttered gruffly, scooping Victor into his arms as he stood up. Beneath the teacher’s grey hair, Yakov swore he saw a hint of purple dangling from her ears. He blinked again, pushing away the rising tension in his chest at the sight. She smiled softly at him.

“He was incredibly upset, Mr Feltsman. He needs something new to focus on,” she offered gently, though her face remained steadfast. She waved them out the door, and smiled at Victor’s teal eyes, which glistened beneath his flowing silver hair as they stepped down to the street.

Yakov drove straight to the harbour, which was Victor’s favourite place. It was about five minutes away from the ice rink that Yakov worked at, and a further ten minutes away from their apartment. Victor had moved in with Yakov when his parents started to travel for work. They were professional ice skaters, skating competitively when they were younger, but opting now to perform in ice shows across the world. It had been one whole year since Victor had last seen them, and this was the longest he had been separated from them. The road was no place for a young child, so instead they entrusted him to their home rink coach, Yakov Feltsman. 

Yakov was a firm but fair guardian, raising Victor in the same way he coached young skaters. He had always had a soft spot for Victor's mother, but seeing how her career was affecting her son had changed his opinion on her slightly. And now that Victor was losing his colours at such an early age, he wasn't sure he could forgive her.

When they stepped out of the car and into the sea breeze, Victor breathed deeply, closing his eyes to listen to the seagulls. While the landscape was gorgeous, the colours were muted, so if Victor was losing his colours he wouldn’t notice it so much here. Besides, Yakov knew how much Victor liked the sea. They walked along the pier, approaching the ice cream parlour that sat on the brow of the coast line. Yakov bought him his favourite, a double chocolate sundae, and watched while he worked systematically through the bowl. The young boy’s eyes were trained on the cherry that he'd picked off his ice cream and discarded on the table. Victor’s eyes were fixed, unblinking at the shiny curve of the fruit, which was only a slight shade lighter than the grey table it lay on. As much as he willed it, Victor could not see the red fruit. Yakov took a deep breath before placing a hand on the little boy’s shoulder.

"Vitya. Have your teachers talked about how our eyes work when we are little?" He decided to try and explain what was happening, testing the waters. Victor nodded. "Can you tell me what you know?"

"When I'm a big boy, I won't see colours until I find The One, my soulmate," he answered, the words of an adult sounding ridiculous from the mouth of a child. Yakov smiled, nodding his agreement.

"Exactly. And your soulmate could be anyone out there, you know? They might not even be born yet. It is sad when you lose your colours, but it's not the end of the world," Yakov said gently, squeezing the boys shoulder as he spoke.

"I know. It just scared me a little bit," Victor whispered, pulling his sundae dish closer to his chin. There wasn’t much ice cream left, so he tipped the cool glass against his lips, wiping his chin with the back of his hand when he was done.

"It's okay, Vitya. Why don't we go shopping, for the colours you can see? We can change the paint in your room, and get you some new, grown up bed spreads," Yakov suggested. Victor's eyes grew wide at the suggestion, and a warmth filled his chest. The cherry on the table flickered into life, it's shiny red curve winking in the lights of the parlour. A feeling of warmth stretched through Victor's skin, tingling in his fingertips as the colour grew stronger. Victor stared in amazement, and Yakov breathed a sigh of relief.

This relief was short lived, and after one month Victor could no longer see colour. Yakov tried to get Victor to open up, organising meetings with his teacher in an attempt to stop the colours from leaving the boy. However, when a child starts to lose their colours, there isn’t much to stop them from fading away. Even the doctors and specialists that Yakov paid for couldn’t answer his questions, and he had to watch while the vibrant young child he had practically raised became withdrawn.

Victor knew what was happening to him, and while that day at the beach had helped initially, it could never stop the process. Yakov immediately sent word to his parents, who sent a postcard in response. He was always curious about his parents, constantly asking Yakov to see pictures or videos of their performances. They even made a long-distance call once a month so that he could tell them how much he missed them. After losing the colour orange, their phone call was brought forward by a week. It was important that they knew, and perhaps the contact with his parents would at least slow the process. The call itself lasted half an hour, and mostly consisted of Victor watching Yakov’s face burn a deep shade of grey in frustration. He knew it should be a pink blush, and tried to picture what that would look like.

When he could no longer see green, Victor stopped watching his parents on the TV recordings that Yakov still insisted on keeping. After the phone call, Victor had stopped asking about his parents. They didn’t come and visit him, despite their hasty promise through the phoneline, and Victor didn’t even read the postcards that were sent as an apology.

The deterioration happened so quickly that Lilia was unsure how to handle the situation with her class. Victor had a week off school when he finally lost the final shade of blue, and Lilia decided that she would plan a class visit with his uncle for his return. Walking into the classroom, clinging to his uncle’s hand, Victor couldn’t hide his emotions. His face was streaked with tear marks, and his fingernails dug into Yakov’s hand, leaving half-moon crescents against the rough skin. Yakov delicately led him into the room, where the class had painted a huge picture of Victor. He could make out the splashes were the colours overlapped, grey on dark grey on lighter grey hand prints behind the large print of his face. He smiled politely, tears stinging his eyes. Despite their best efforts, he became withdrawn from his classmates.

Their attempts to reconnect with him were valiant, but short lived. Victor became withdrawn, choosing to stay in the classroom over lunch instead of playing with his friends. The only days he now enjoyed were snow days. Most people wrapped up in dark, heavy coats and boots, and the blanket of white made Victor feel normal. For once, his classmates could see the world the same way he could.

A year after fully losing his colours, Victor chose to join Yakov at the ice rink instead of his after-school clubs, meeting the young stars of figure skating in Russia. His first time on the ice was a disaster; he spent more time on his back than upright, but his flushed cheeks were stretched into a smile the whole time. The deal was that if Victor could land 3 different kinds of jumps within the year, Yakov would start to work with him professionally. Every day, even on weekends, Victor would run down to the rink with his borrowed skates in hand. The week before his nineth birthday, and just over thirteen months since his deal with Yakov, Victor proved himself a worthy student. In private, he had worked with one of the older skaters in Yakov’s troupe on a choreographed routine. It was clear that Victor had inherited his parents’ skating talent, and Yakov was so impressed that he took Victor that very afternoon to purchase a new pair of skates.

The store was in the city centre, and Victor trailed Yakov through the crowds carefully. Stepping into the warmth of the store, Victor was impressed by the sheer volume of winter sports supplies they stocked. In the corner of the store was a display lined with a multitude of skates, which Victor ran to immediately. Yakov shook his head, smiling as he followed deliberately. Victor craned his neck to see the skates at the very top of the display, reaching up with his too short arms to try and pull them down. A store assistant pulled them down for him, laughing as she sat down with him and unlaced his shoes.

“I bet purple is your favourite colour, huh, little guy?” She smiled, absentmindedly slipping his feet into the soles. Her hands were quick at lacing the boots, but Victor’s hand shot out and stopped her mid-lace.

The green rope blinked into life, almost like a fluorescent light. Slowly, this green melted into the dark purple of the boot, down to the dull red blade guards. Victor blinked in amazement, his body overwhelmed by the impact of the eclectic mix of colour. He pointed excitedly while his left hand hit Yakov’s sleeve.

“Yakov, look! It’s _green_!” His face lit up with the realisation, and he rubbed his eyes in disbelief. Yakov just watched, his heart swelling with the same relief he had felt in the ice cream parlour all those years ago. Without checking the price tag, he bought the skates and a matching outfit for Victor. Victor demanded they return to the rink immediately so he could show off his new purchases.

As Victor's body spun around the rink, gliding gracefully over the ice, his eyes caught sight of the costumes, and the colours that surrounded him. The only time he saw colours now was when he was mid-movement on the ice, and it quickly became an obsession. He spent his free time on the ice, resting only when Yakov banned him from entering the rink. His life continued this way until his classmates started to lose their colours too.

When he started high school, he decided to become a mentor to support the other students that were losing their colours. It wasn’t long before he developed a name for himself, both in school and on the ice. He started to skate professionally, competing in the junior division between exams. As he got older, he noticed it was getting harder for him to see the colours when he skated, but that didn't stop him from loving the sport. Now he was in it for the gold. Occasionally, he would see the glimmer of a red spotlight, or a flash of his rink mate’s ever changing hair colour, but he was no longer skating to see the true saturation of the world.

The next flash of colour he saw was when he was 15. Yakov was always out of the apartment, working at the ice rink almost every waking moment. When Victor wasn't allowed in the rink so that he would rest, he grew bored of his school work. Today was a blustery Saturday in October, and the wind threw dark grey leaves against Victor’s windowpane. Instead of attempting his literature homework, he decided to talk a walk. The bus to the city centre was heaving, as many other teenagers had had the same idea. Ducking his hood over his head so that he wouldn’t be recognised, he stepped off the bus and into the streets of St. Petersburg, kicking at dull cans along the sidewalk, when suddenly he heard a thud next to him. Pattering against the glass display window was a tiny, chocolate puppy, weak sunlight bouncing off its luscious brown curls as it danced in the window.

Wait, how did he know they were brown?

He stared in amazement at the silvery fur, as pins and needles tingled up his legs. The puppy's large brown eyes blinked up at him with love. 

Love.

Without hesitating, he stormed into the store, demanding the puppy in the window. The owner was happy to oblige, saying that this was the first time the dog had shown any hint of joy at a human. On the wall, Victor spotted a bright red collar, and a smile stretched across his face. He purchased that too, with a matching red lead, a blue bed, and a rainbow of toys for his new pup.

Yakov was late home that night, so it wasn't until the morning that he even realised that Victor had bought a dog. He was livid, demanding that Victor take the dog back immediately. Victor's eyes welled up, and he clung to the puppy's delicate fur, refusing to hand over the lead. Within ten minutes, Yakov had given up, grumbling that he would not be responsible for the dog, and that Victor had better make sure she doesn't make a mess in the apartment.

Makkachin was the name Victor decided on, after a week of Lillies, Josies, Matyas and Rolos, and Yakov saw that she made him happier than anything else he had in his life. Now, Victor was much happier to take rest days, choosing instead to walk his beloved puppy for hours on end around the local park. Whenever Yakov saw them together, he couldn’t help but smile. Victor had, for the time being, found something he could truthfully love.

Makkachin changed a lot of things for Victor, including his cynicism with regards to love. By chance, one evening while he was walking her across their favourite park, he spotted his old primary school teacher walking her own dog. A smile stretched across her face as she recognised his characteristically long silver hair as he approached her, and her gaze fell to the puppy he was pulling behind him. Within minutes Lilia had asked about his uncle at least four times, referring to him as Mr. Feltsman and avoiding eye contact as she spoke. Victor smiled knowingly, and took down her number. In between his school work and skating, he spent the next month working as a matchmaker, organising dates for Lilia and Yakov until he was sure they had the momentum to do so themselves.

Victor moved out when he was 17. Yakov married Lilia, and while Victor was incredibly happy for them, so happy that he had cried at their wedding, he did not want to be around a newly-wed couple that had waited 10 years to be together. When he had finalised the move, and he was sat in his lonely, grey apartment, he noticed that Makkachin's fur was greying slightly. As weeks passed, this grew worse and worse until the only colour she retained permanently was the loving brown of her eyes when she looked at Victor. Occasionally, he would notice the flash of her red collar, or a toy at the pet store that she would love, and when he was incredibly lonely in the dead of night, she would nuzzle her head into his face, flooding his vision with that same vivid chocolate that he saw the very first day.

Victor dropped out of school a year before graduation to focus on his skating career; he was making enough money to do so, and he found school to be tedious and distracting. Now, he spent almost every day on the ice, focussing on becoming the greatest figure skater in world history. It wasn't long before he became a household name, and Russia's national sweetheart. He qualified for the senior division when he was 19, winning gold in the Worlds and National divisions. His debut as a senior was a rousing success.

The next flash of colour that Victor saw wasn’t until he had fully given up searching for it. On the eve of his 20th Birthday, Victor found himself alone in London for the Grand Prix Final, eating a slice of cake in a bland cafe, when the doorbell rang. With the sound, Victor noticed a flash of pink raspberry on the blue and white patterened China. He glanced up, and noticed one of the other skaters at the final, Christophe Giacometti had walked in with Mila Babicheva, a member of Russia’s national team.

Victor had seen Chris only in passing. They had never spoken to each other, but today was apparently the day. Mila waved Chris over to Victor’s table where she had taken a seat, and when Chris approached with three cups of coffee, he froze just shy of the table. Their eyes had met. Both had seen the flash of colour in the irises, and both knew what that was supposed to mean.

Chris took a seat opposite Victor, and the two started chatting. They realised fairly quickly they had a lot in common. Chris’s hazel eyes flashed beneath a mop of blonde hair as he teased Victor; he was two years Victor’s junior, but he was a lot more mature for his age than Victor ever was. Mila glanced between the two of them and gasped, before her fork clattered to the floor.

“You two have seen your _colours_!” She shrieked, grasping both of their arms in her excitement. A smile stretched across Chris’s face, and Victor glared at her from across the table.

“Can you not _chill_ for two seconds?” Victor whispered, aware that her shrill outburst had earned them a few glances from other diners. She held a finger to her lips and leaned in, whispering as she spoke.

“I saw my colours too, last week,” she said, matching Victor’s volume. Chris tilted his head quizzically, but before he could ask for more details she was up and out of the door. Instead of staying in the café, where they were the focus of almost all of the diners now, they decided to walk along the Thames back to their hotel. The cold December air whipped their hair around their faces, their laughs carried on the wind over the river. Victor couldn't help the pounding in his chest; this was the first human he had seen with colour since he was 7 years old.

While on tower bridge, they stopped to watch the boats in the distance, and Victor slipped his hand into Chris's. Their fingers intertwined, and the warmth was comforting for Victor. He turned his head, and without thinking pressed his lips to Chris's. The younger man obliged, but it was brief. There was no spark, and there was no songbird to signify their love.

When they parted, their worlds were still grey, which meant they were not, as they had thought, soul mates. Together they laughed, still holding hands as they continued their journey. Chris spoke first.

“Perhaps we are soul friends? My mother always told me that sometimes your true love can be a friend,” Chris suggested. Victor shook his head.

“I was told that it was always ‘The One’,” he rolled his eyes as he made air quotes with his free hand, pulling another light laugh from Chris.

They never mentioned what happened on the bridge after that. Even with Mila’s probing, Victor didn’t give up the information. He was slightly embarrassed that he had acted so impulsively; he was usually so guarded when it came to personal relationships.

This brings us to today.

Victor Nikiforov, at the age of 27, is the most decorated but figure skater in world history. He has repeatedly smashed his own world records again and again, while winning several gold medals both in the Olympics for his country and in domestic and foreign competitions. He has a supportive skating family, headed by Yakov, who love him and who he loves back. Makkachin is always at home to welcome him, and even occasionally travels to competitions with him. She is in excellent health for her age, and doesn't appear to be slowing down any time soon. 

Victor's life seems perfect, but to him, it isn’t enough.

Victor is bored of his black and white world, and he is beginning to lose hope that love is out there. 

That is, until he meets Yuuri Katsuki.

 


	2. Dark Blue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Victor is bored with skating, and his grey-scale mood doesn't seem to be letting up.
> 
> But something is about to change that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah so now I'm following the canon timeline, and hopefully I can get more written before the end of the week.
> 
> Please do let me know what you think, and enjoy! 
> 
>  
> 
> [ Also feel free to come and chat on my Tumblr!](http://star---dust.tumblr.com)

Yuuri Katsuki didn't come into his life until Victor had completely given up on love. It was difficult, but Victor had come to terms with the fact that he was not destined to meet his soulmate, at least not until he gave up skating professionally. He tried to reason with himself, but his cynicism only grew with his age. Chris was the closest he had ever come to finding a soulmate in his adult life, and that had been 7 years ago when he was young and naive.  
Victor is in the midst of the most impressive gold streak in the history of figure skating when his story overlaps Yuuri's, at the Grand Prix Final of 2016.

* * *

_"Good morning, folks, this is your captain speaking. We hope you have enjoyed flying with us, and look forward to flying with you again. Please take your seats, as we will soon begin our descent. Thank you,"_ the voice sounded grainy through the intercom. Victor stirred from his nap, running a hand through his fringe as his eyes adjusted to the sunlight streaming through the window.

Victor always hated flying, but in his line of work it was unavoidable. Still, this flight was a lot shorter than most, as he was only flying from one side of Russia to the other. As the seatbelt light flashed into life, an uneasiness settled densely in his chest. After forcing himself to breathe deeply, he glanced around. Leaning against his shoulder, snoring lightly, was the Junior champion Yuri Plisetsky. He was barely 14, but he was a fantastic skater, perhaps even better than Victor himself.

With a wiggle of his shoulder, Victor managed to wake him, much to the teenager's chagrin.

"Why are you always such an asshole when we fly?" He muttered, snapping his belt into place. Victor laughed nervously.  
"Are you going to let me hold your hand this time?" He tried to joke, but the words felt unconvincing even to him. Below them, rolling grey fields were drawing closer, closer, as pressure started to build in Victor's ears. His hands grew white, as his fingernails dug into the expensive leather of the seat. Yuri sighed, but held his hand out anyway for the older man to take.

Silently, they felt their bodies respond to the changing altitude; Yuri's ears popped despite the mint he was sucking, so he could hear Victor's disjointed breathing more clearly. Sneaking a glance sideways, he noticed that the older man's cheeks were tinged green slightly.  
Yuri still had his colours, despite being old enough to have lost them. Perhaps this was because his body matured at a slower rate than his peers, his lithe frame still developing despite the fact that his voice had long since broken. He was also far more mature than even the older skaters in Yakov's troupe. Despite this, he was the only one that could still see colour fully, and it didn't look like they were going anywhere any time soon.

One thing that did change, however, were his emotional responses to these colours. He started to feel the heady rush of red, the watery inconsistency of blues and greens, the tingling sensation of darker hues. The emotions associated with these colours often became overwhelming for his mind to focus clearly, so instead of embracing them, he tried to create a black and white world. This was partly what had attracted him to ice skating. The white world was only ever tainted with bright colours during competitions, and Yakov enforced an all black uniform during training sessions. It was easier to ignore the onslaught of colour that he usually had to deal with out in the real world when it melted into white.

Victor's eyes grew darker as the plane hit a patch of minor turbulence, and Yuri muttered that it must just be a cloud. Victor just nodded in response.

After what felt like a lifetime for both of them, the plane eventually landed. The second the tyres hit the tarmac, Yuri snatched his hand back, grimacing at the half-moon crescents left in his skin. By way of apology, Victor carried their bags off the plane, and through the airport, where Yakov was waiting for them. He had arrived two days earlier to sort out an issue with the rooms.

It wasn't long before they were at their hotel. As they tried to walk through the lobby, they were stopped abruptly by a crowd of reporters, clamouring for Victor's attention. Immediately, Victor's face fell into his Public Persona, pulling his glasses off his face delicately before offering the camera a smile and a wink. The die hard fan girls who stood just beyond the reporters swooned, earning Victor a kick from the Russian teenager. He just laughed, pulling Yuri into his chest with just one arm. While he didn't look it, Victor was actually incredibly strong. Yuri struggled, pushing and swearing in Russian. A few cameras clicked, and Yakov barked an order at them in English.

"Upstairs, showers, now," he pushed them through the crowd, which parted almost immediately. Victor was still laughing, ruffling Yuri's yellow blonde hair with his free hand.

Wait. Yellow.

The instant that he noticed the pigment it vanished. It must be the jet lag, he shrugged.

After a shower, he decided to have a wander around Sochi. He had been here a couple of times on competitions, but he had never really explored. Yuri was visiting his grandpa, who had come to see him perform, and Yakov was on the phone to Lilia when he left the hotel alone. He wandered around the streets that led to the ice rink before finding himself heading to the sea front.

There was always something about the ocean, the sounds of the gulls and the waves breaking against the coast, that soothed Victor. It was perhaps the one place that he didn't mind was devoid of colour, because it offered so much more.  
A sigh escaped his lips involuntarily as he leaned against the railings, closing his eyes so that he could fully immerse his senses in the ocean air.

A chill December wind stung his cheeks, carrying the sound of the waves as it whipped his hair around his face. A buzzing sound in his pocket made him jump. It was Chris, requesting FaceTime. When Victor accepted the call, he recognised the striped wallpaper of the hotel lobby.

"Hey," Victor raised a hand in front of his camera, and Chris squinted at the landscape behind him.

 _"So you're already here and you didn't even wait for me?"_ Chris purred, his voice sounding tinny through the phone speaker. Victor shrugged.

 _"Coffee?"_ Chris suggested, tilting his head coyly.

"I'll meet you at the hotel," Victor blew a kiss to the camera, before ending the call. He was glad Chris was here already. That meant he would get two full days with him as a friend as opposed to a competitor.

When he returned to the hotel, the reporters were focussed on another skater, so he could slip past quietly. The camera flashes lit the lobby area once more, and Victor could just about hear the quiet voice answering the questions.  
Chris exited the elevator, buttoning his coat over his dark blue turtleneck sweater.

Victor blinked, and again the colour vanished the second he saw it. Flying always threw him off, but twice in one day?

He pulled Chris into a tight embrace, briefly drawing the incessant camera clicks their way. With his arm around Chris's waist, the two stepped out into the freezing cold street. The low winter sun was blinding, so simultaneously they slipped their sun glasses over their faces, before turning towards the Starbucks at the end of the street.

* * *

"So, how're things with you and Kasper? Is he coming this year?" A grin stretched across Victor's face as he noticed the change in his friends expression. Chris's eyes widened a little, and his finger traced the pattern on the table.

"Fantastic. He's getting a plane tomorrow. I've only been away from him for one day, and already I'm losing red, but maybe it's just me," Chris shrugged as he sipped his coffee, and Victor just shook his head in response.

"You're missing the sex, right? You can't wait one day?" He laughed, while Chris raised a suggestive eyebrow.

"Well, I have one night free from him, maybe we can try and bring your colours back, if only for an hour?" Victor sprayed coffee on the table as he laughed, causing Chris to laugh hysterically back. The sound of their combined laughter brought a hint of colour to their cheeks, Victor for the first time in years seeing the faintest trace of pink on Chris's skin.  
"I've missed you," Chris admitted. "It's hard to work on a program if you're not on the sidelines judging my step sequence."

"Well I promise after this season I will come to Switzerland, its been too long," Victor said, breathing a sigh as he spoke. Chris nodded.

"It really has. But won't you be preparing for next year?" Chris leaned forward as he spoke, his coffee cup tipping precariously. Victor just shrugged in response.

"Maybe, who knows?" Was all he offered, interrupted by a group of fans approaching them for an autograph.  
Once they finished the coffee, they walked slowly along the seafront to the hotel. Chris was chatting away about how difficult it was buying a house, and how it was easier to decorate his apartment before he had to worry about colour schemes, and clashing, but Victor was hardly paying attention. He kept glancing at Chris's shirt, before Chris stopped and pulled on the fabric dubiously.

"What? Does this not look good for me?" He asked without a shred of doubt in his voice. Victor looked at him, before turning to face the ocean one more time.  
"It's blue, right?"

Chris froze, looking down at the navy blue weave beneath the tan trench coat he had slipped on. Navy Blue, incredibly close to black but one of the last colours to leave a person.

"Wait, you can see this?" He leaned against the railings facing Victor, who's eyes were shielded by his glasses. Chris, however, could see the faint pink tinge under his skin.

"Only briefly in the lobby, but they could be anyone," Victor huffed, resting his chin on his arms. Chris just shook his head.

"We have two days until the competition. We're not going to find them out here!"

* * *

Two days passed faster than Victor would have liked, but no one he approached even inspired the memory of a colour, let alone brought them back for him. The glimmer of hope he had tried to stifle that first day had both flared up and dissipated by the time the competition rolled around, and when he stepped onto the ice to skate his short program, the only feeling coursing through his veins was bitter disappointment. He tried to utilise this in his jumps, and despite the slightly less fluid movements, he still managed to top the scoreboard.

The free skate was much more familiar. After a stern talking to from Yakov, Victor chose to wait away from the rink before his performance, hoping to refocus his energy on the skate. When they announced his name, he walked calmly onto the rink, gliding into the centre where he couldn't avoid Yakov's stern gaze. The music started, a slow build to a powerful voice, pining for something that Victor had never really come close to. As he slid around the ice, automatically launching himself into his jumps and spins, he thought about how the singer must be feeling, and how closely he felt to the piece.

While Opera and classical music was his usual choice anyway, this piece in particular had spoken to him in a way no other piece had. It was easy for him to choreograph something real for this music, and it was not as fast paced as the other competitors this year. It allowed him to conserve his stamina for the jumps in the second part of the program, which comes sooner than he realises.

A triple toe loop followed by a quadruple toe loop, followed of course by the persistent applause from the crowd that can hardly see the manoeuvres. The voice of the commentator cuts through the music; Victor pushes past this and lands his next three combination jumps effortlessly. His final position in the centre of the ice leaves him a moment to breathe, before the crowd erupts into loud, raucous applause. A number of plush toys and flowers hit the ice around him, launched from the sea of people as he bows gracefully.

Victor won his fifth consecutive Grand Prix Final that year, kissing the cool gold medal while cameras snapped the podium. Chris to his right held a silver medal proudly, though he does throw Victor a bitter glance before kissing his own medal. To Victor's left is a fairly new competitor, a Canadian who keeps pumping the air with his fist and shouting to his girlfriend in the kiss and cry behind the cameras. Victor smiled, leading the way off the ice and into the conference room.

The only question that sticks in his mind is the one similar to Chris's, because Victor has not considered his future beyond the season.

His life plan had been to meet his soulmate, and he supposed that everything would fall into place beyond that. However, as he was painfully aware, his soulmate was somewhere in the universe, unaware that he was longing for the connection that colours promised. Trying to remember colours was a ghost he had long since given up, but out of the corner of his eye, a flash of blue distracts him.

Beneath a mop of dark black hair, the light catches on the light blue frames of his glasses, the lenses concealing the boys eyes. Chris's line of vision followed Victor's, and he quickly turned conversation to himself when he realised Victor was staring at someone. The skater remained for only a moment, before he ducked out of view, much to Victor's disappointment.

Victor and Chris leave the Canadian, JJ, discussing his upcoming tour with the journalists, rushing into the changing rooms to find the mystery man. This, unfortunately, is too late, as all the other skaters have returned to the hotel to prepare for the Grand Prix Banquet, the coveted party that only the most elite skaters are able to attend.

When he was much younger, Victor thrived on parties. The chance that his soulmate was in the crowd somewhere always meant that his extroverted personality showed itself in full force. He distinctly remembered his first party with Chris, where the two of them drank an unholy amount, and were caught sneaking out of the hotel function area and into the local night club, only returning in the early hours of the following morning.

That was the last party that Victor remembers enjoying vividly, despite the fact that Chris was not his romantic soulmate. It was the first, and last, grown up party where he could revel in the multi-coloured ball gowns the female skaters wore, glittering along the dance floor as they twirled and danced. He remembers both of them counting a tally for the various coloured ties they could spot, turning it into the drinking game that eventually led to their premature exit.

Even in the night club, Victor marvelled at the brightly coloured lights that swarmed his skin, pulling Chris into playful kisses that were reciprocated in the haze of tequila shots and thumping bass. It was the first time Victor was not worried that he didn't have his true colours; the muted world that Chris had given him was enough, if only for that one night. Though the hangover the next day convinced him he was dying, Victor vowed to never miss an opportunity to immerse himself in that world again.

Granted, the opportunity never actually arose, and as this was his seventh banquet since that night with Chris, Victor only assumed tonight would be the same he had had to endure. When he stepped into the hall, his eyes roamed the dance floor casually. The suits were all grey, the champagne was grey, the ballgowns were grey, his entire world was still grey. No amount of celebration could change that.

Still, he accepted the champagne flute that Chris handed him, admiring the bubbles that playfully fizzed against the cool glass. He took a sip, closing his eyes as he did so, unaware that when the liquid hit his lips, he would have noticed the pinkish tinge in the glass. Without taking a break, he finished that glass quickly, snatching another from one of the anonymous waiters, glancing down only for a moment before freezing mid-sentence.

Chris also stared at the glass; this was not the first time he had seen the subtle undertones of champagne. Victor pulled the glass up to his eyes, watching the clear bubbles battle each other in their beige-pink arena. His head snapped up, looking around the room for some other indication that he wasn't imagining the colour. When he turned back to Chris, a pair of hazel eyes stared at him quizzically.

"Chris, it's pink," Victor hissed, his eyes darting between his friend and the glass in his hand.

"Wow, you can see that?" Chris too was now looking around to see who had walked in. He nudged Victor when he spotted a mop of dark hair in the corner, sulkily sipping on a champagne flute. His hair was a slight mess, and behind him on the empty table sat a line of at least 7 empty flutes. The black, misshapen suit sat awkwardly on his shoulders, and the hideous blue striped tie that sat limply against his chest was far from a perfect match for his blue framed glasses. Victor managed to maintain composure, but he couldn't help but stare at this perfectly coloured figure in the sea of grey-scale smart suits.

He knew he had to talk to him.


	3. Grey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri Katsuki is beginning to lose all hope that he will make his mark on the figure skating world. His monochrome life has gotten the better of him.  
> But one thing can change it all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while since an update, but please enjoy!

A groan. Pounding headache. Alcohol. 

He can smell it on his breath.  It makes him almost heave.

 Opening a bleary eye, he can just about see that, thankfully, he is in is own hotel room. On the bedside table, he could make out a couple of shapes, one of which he hopes is his glasses. Instead of sitting up, he groped awkwardly. His fingers grazed the lukewarm glass of water, and a slip of paper, before the cool lenses were in his palm. 

Another wave of nausea rolls through his stomach, but his headache subsides slightly when he no longer has to strain to see. When the wave passes, he plucks up the courage to slide into a seated position, gingerly sipping the water left by his coach, as detailed in the note. Celestino had also left some pain killers, and even put his phone on charge.

 Yuuri leaned against the headboard, staring blankly into the dark room. Checking his phone, he saw it was only 8:30, but he didn't feel ready to venture downstairs for breakfast. A shower was first on the list. A shower, and maybe a ten hour nap.

Willing his aching body to move, he managed to pull himself into the bathroom. Celestino hadn't bothered to try and change him, so all he had on were his boxers and his open button down shirt. Without hazarding a glance in the mirror, he slipped into the tiny box that was the shower, fiddling with the knobs until the water lashed against his sensitive skin. 

There was something on his arm. But his glasses were on the counter outside, and it didn't look like anything really important. He scrubbed the black characters off his skin, watching the suds roll off until his arm was red raw.  But it couldn't be red. He hadn't met his soulmate yet.  He stared at the skin as the hot water and steam turned the rest of his skin soft pink. Scrambling for his glasses, he wiped the mirror down before slipping the frames on his face. 

The blue frame glinted in the fake light from above the mirror, and his eyes, he saw, were brown. Clinging to the sink with one hand, and rubbing his eyes in disbelief with the other, the colour didn't shift. Granted, it was muted, but the pigment was still there. 

He was hyperventilating. What was he going to do? And where was his soulmate now? He must still be near to them- 

A ringing from the bed interrupted his thoughts, ripping through his headache viciously. It was his best friend Phichit, checking in after his abysmal performance yesterday. Yuuri's accepted the video call, almost instantly regretting it when the sheer volume of his friends greeting rang in his ears. 

 _"Yuuriii, what's up? How was the banquet yesterday?"_ Phichit was resting against the side of an ice rink that looked unfamiliar, and the shouts in the background sounded foreign to Yuuri. He must have returned to his home rink over the holidays, Yuuri realised, shamefully forgetting that he had hardly spoken to his best friend during the Grand Prix. 

After qualifying by the skin of his teeth, Yuuri's anxiety flared up, causing him to withdraw from those around him. Usually when this happened, he was in Detroit, where Celestino could get him his usual medication, and Phichit was nearby. 

"It was great, yeah, I don't remember much," Yuri sheepishly admitted, glancing away from the screen momentarily. Phichit's dark grey eyes blinked quizzically at him through the screen, but Yuuri's focus was on the pigment of his skin, slightly flushed post-skate, underneath a mop of dense brown hair. Immediately, Phichit connected the dots, and almost screamed down the phone.

 _"Yuuri you got your colours! Again!"_ Phichit almost dropped his phone in his excitement, whereas Yuri nearly dropped his from Phichit's screech. _"_ _Who is it?"_ He demanded. Yuuri looked away again. 

 _"You got drunk again didn't you?"_ Phitchit said, disbelief clouding his voice. 

"I was so upset, and I just. I blanked," Yuuri muttered. He shook his hand through his hair, and held it out in front of him, appreciating the slight tonal difference in the skin and fingernails.

_"When was the last time?"_

 "Five years, when I met you," Yuuri muttered, remembering the embarrassing scene. Phichit just laughed, waving a hand at Yuuri through the screen. 

 _"But the platonic soulmate only happens once, same as the romantic, and we know for a fact that I'm not the latter,"_ he laughed, eyes sparkling at the thought.  _"I can't believe you beat me to my colours again."_

Yuuri yawned, signifying the end of the phone call. He promised to call again in the evening, but first he needed to sleep. 

It was now 9:50, and Yuuri somehow felt more exhausted after his shower and painkillers kicked in. Neither of these things distilled the tug in his chest when he remembered how poorly he had performed in the competition, and he physically winced at the memory. 

There was no coming back from this. Of course 23 was fairly young for retirement, but stranger things had happened. Besides, it had been years since skating had brought colour to his life; his anxiety had made sure that any pigment was sucked from his vision, and indeed any colour he may have seen after losing his colours was short-lived.

 Before Phichit, Yuuri went a whole year without seeing even a flicker of colour. He was incredibly surprised to find that when stepped into his shared dorm, he spotted a bright yellow three-tiered hamster cage. Behind this, at the desk, sat the Thai boy, barely 15, but bursting into life before Yuuri's eyes.  The two became virtually inseparable, competitions the only reason they were ever apart. Despite this, Yuuri still struggled sometimes to see colours around him, and after a while he accepted that his world would always be a shade darker than everyone else's, regardless of soulmates. 

So he was surprised to say the least. Lying in that stuffy hotel room, after his worst performance to date, Yuuri's colour sense shouldn't even come close to the level it was at now. While the brighter colours were slightly muted, the rest of the room hummed with the sudden colouration, and Yuuri felt at ease as he drifted into adreamless sleep.

* * *

In the weeks that passed, Yuuri's anxiety only worsened his performance. He scored terribly at Nationals, meaning he didn't qualify for any of the later competitions of the season. To Yuuri, this signified the end of his career.

When he returned home at the end of the season, any hint of colour that he may have had was long gone. On the train into Hasetsu, the rolling Japanese countryside looked beautiful despite the monochrome. Grey cherry blossoms dotted the hillsides, sprinkling light confetti across the landscape. Yuuri could barely remember what real cherry blossoms looked like. When he finally pulled into Hasetsu, his legs turned to lead. It'd been five long years since he had been home; his home town had been rooting for him. And he had failed.

 The conductor shuffled along the platform and waved him off through the window. With a sigh, he pulled himself and his bag off the train and through the station.

 "Yuurriiii!"  A female voice shouted over the ticket barriers. He gasped when he saw his childhood mentor, Minako Okukawa, twirling from a pirouette into a perfect arabesque, leg raised above her head while her arms held a large sign bearing his name in Kanji characters. A shameful flush crawled under his skin, and he wanted the ground to swallow him whole, despite Minako's perfect grin.

 "Minako, hey," Yuuri muttered as he awkwardly shuffled through the barrier. 

After a brief and awkward encounter with a fan just outside the station, Minako led Yuuri to her car, before driving them home. She talked the whole way, about Hasetsu and the closure of the other Onsens in the little spa town, about how excited his mom was to see him, and how Mari had taken on shifts at Minako's bar to help their own spa.

 Yuuri just sat with his head against the glass, watching the familiar streets whiz past. Nothing had changed here. Not even the people who wandered the streets. It was as if Hasetsu was frozen in a time capsule, waiting to be thawed when Yuuri returned home. It wasn't a very long journey, and before he knew it, they were pulling into the car park on the front of the traditional building that was his family's Onsen. 

It was a brilliant example of traditional Japanese architecture; Yuuri could picture the colourful woodwork that framed the doorway into the main reception area. The few cherry blossoms in their courtyard still retained most of their petals, as the large wall surrounding the hot springs generally protected them from the elements. Minako parked, and turned to Yuuri with a wide grin on her face.

 "Ready?" She asked, throwing her door open before he had the chance to answer. She pulled his case from the trunk while he took in his surroundings. His heart was pounding now; five years was an awfully long time to be away. They entered through the front door, much to Yuuri's surprise. They stepped into the warmth, and Minako shouted through to the bar. "Hiroko, look who's here!" She chimed. Footsteps ran excitedly across the floorboards, and Yuuri smiled, remembering the heavy footfalls of his mom from when he was little.

"Minako-Senpai! Thank you, Yuuri, welcome home!" She beamed, radiating joy. Her son was finally home.

"I'm sorry it's been so long," Yuuri muttered sheepishly, only to be shushed by his mother.

"It's okay," she grinned, "I'm sorry about your graduation. Still, you're here now. That's all that matters. Would you like a pork cutlet bowl?"

Before Yuuri could answer, Minako had grabbed his shoulder, her fingernails digging into his shoulders painfully.

"No he does not. Yuuri, I noticed when we left the station. Look at you!" She ripped open his coat to show the tight fitting shirt Yuuri was wearing, stretched over his soft stomach. Yuuri was a comfort eater, and he had gained a bit of weight since dropping out of the Nationals. A flush flared in his cheeks; Minako just shook her head angrily.

"You are a figure skater, and you need to be at a peak physical condition at all times!" She yelled, still holding Yuuri's coat open. 

"Wow, Yuuri, I always knew you were just like your mother," a voice called from behind the counter to their right. Yuri's dad, Toshio Katsuki, was laughing as he slid open the screen that blocked the the office from view. Minako shot him an affronted look.

"Toshio-San, Yuuri is a figure skater! This is not the ideal weight for a figure skater!" Her face screwed up as she spoke, but Toshio just laughed.

"Ah, well, what can you do?" He shrugged, still beaming at his son. "Hiroko, let's get started on those pork cutlet bowls! They're not going to make themselves!" Disappearing behind the counter again as he spoke, Toshio clattered to the office door. 

"That would be lovely, but first..." Yuuri trailed off, looking down at his feet. His mom nodded, aware of the tension that had suddenly settled on the room.

"Of course. Vicchan is just through the back," she smiled, resting a gentle hand on his shoulder.

Yuuri walked through to the private room at the back of the Onsen, relaxing slightly as he acclimatised to being in his childhood home. While he struggled to remember the true colour of the paintings that lined the walls, the traditional artwork was still comforting. It calmed his racing mind, and regulated his breathing while he tried not to think too much about where he was going.

In the quiet room, weak sunlight printed squares along the floor. Yuuri could smell the incense that burned beneath the photographs, and he lowered his body to the ground slowly. 

Vicchan had been Yuuri's dog, named after one of the most influential figure skaters in the world. The chocolate toy poodle was a bundle of joy that ran rings around the ice rink whenever Yuuri skated. When Yuuri bought Vicchan he was ten years old, and already losing his colours. The doctors told him that his anxiety was affecting his real-world perception, and he would struggle to maintain the same vibrancy as the rest of his peers. His parents, who wanted to do everything they could to help Yuuri, decided that perhaps a pet would bring more love to his life. 

And that he did. Vicchan was always close to Yuuri, watching for signs that he was close to a panic attack, or proof that he was withdrawing from his surroundings. It took years for his parents to admit they specifically bought Vicchan because he was a trained therapy dog, but by then Yuuri was smitten. 

However, as Yuuri started skating professionally, his anxiety worsened, and Vicchan wasn't always able to travel to competitions. He aged quickly when Yuuri moved to Detroit, and unfortunately Yuuri was unable to see him before he passed away. His parents had called with the news two days before the Grand Prix Final last season, and while Yuuri was grateful they had told him straight away, the pain he felt only intensified his anxiety. He couldn't concentrate on his programs, the weight of his grief resting heavily on his shoulders.

Lost in his thoughts, he didn't hear the door behind him open. A cough broke his concentration, and he turned to see his older sister leaning against the doorframe. A trail of smoke circled her head, a trademark that Yuuri had missed in Detroit.

"Hey, Mari," he said, turning his body to face her. She nodded in response.

"So are you gonna work here indefinitely?" She replied, apathy dripping in her voice. Not because she hadn't missed Yuuri, but because that was just how she spoke. Yuuri shrugged.

"Haven't thought about it much."

"Well, you're room's ready now," she turned to leave, hesitating slightly before closing the door. "We missed you."

The door clicked, and Yuuri pushed himself to his feet. He could do with a soak in the springs.

* * *

 As evening drew on the sleepy town of Hasetsu, Yuuri felt more settled. He'd spent most of the afternoon snoozing in the springs, admiring the intricate tile work that lined the walls. The garden had always been his second favourite place to relax, only slightly falling behind Ice Castle. Laying on his slightly too small bed, staring at the woodwork of his ceiling, he could feel the familiar itch beneath his skin.

It had just gone 8pm; he hoped the opening times hadn't changed since he'd left.

He shot up, slipping into his coat and running through the resort. Running past his mom, he waved a goodbye, not wanting to think too much about what he was doing.

The windchill forced his muscles to move, pushing him over the bridge and into the lower part of town. The streets were empty, which was a relief for Yuuri. He enjoyed the exercise after such a long flight, and he hoped it would tire him out enough to allow him to sleep off his jet lag, which he had ignored for most of the day.

When he got to his home rink, his heart sank a little. The lights were off. There was only a dim glow shining on the floor through the automatic doors, which opened up when Yuuri approached them. He tried to ignore the large posters of his face plastered along the walls as he walked to the desk, grateful that there was a body shuffling amongst the skates.

"Sorry, we're closed," the body cheerfully proclaimed, not looking up from the laces they were untangling. Yuuri coughed.

"Hey, Yuuko, long time no see," Yuuri mumbled. He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, watching as his childhood friend, Yuuko Nishigori, turned in awe to stare at him.

"Yuuri! Hi! When did you get home?" She stood up and walked to the counter that separated them. Here, she dropped the laces in her hands, shining her full attention on Yuuri.

"This morning. How're the triplets?" He stepped forward, into the light.

"They're great, just great. A handful, but just," she sighed. Reaching under the counter, she pulled out a set of keys for Yuuri. His poodle keyring was still attached even after all these years, and he felt a twinge in his chest. The familiar weight of them felt comfortable in his palm. 

"Here ya go, just promise you're gonna come down here more?" Yuuko asked. Yuuri nodded.

"Actually, I was hoping you would be here. I wanted to show you something."

Yuuko's mouth broke into a wide grin, her whole face alight with happiness. Yuuri led the way to the ice, pausing on the benches to tie his skates. He could feel his heart beat increasing, not because he as nervous but because he was finally returning to the ice. After his failure in competition, he couldn't bring himself to return to training. But there was something different about Ice Castle. The nostalgia was too great a pull.

Yuuko leaned against the side of the rink, waiting for Yuri's cue to press play. When he nodded, she clicked the stereo, holding her breath. She recognised the music and Yuuri's position, and she couldn't take her eyes off him.

The sound of the blades cutting through the ice was audible over the music. It echoed around the empty rink, adding to the haunting music from the speakers that lined the walls. Yuuri watched as his world spun around him, the seats whizzing by in a blur of monochrome. Advertisements lined walls that were visible, but Yuuri couldn't make out what they said as his body moved across the ice. A breath escaped his lips, as he threw himself into a triple axel.

The music grew to a crescendo; Yuuko couldn't believe her eyes.

Yuuri was skating Victor Nikiforov's routine.

He tried to keep his eyes open, watching for the walls that fenced him in. They were a comfort for him. In his mind, he could remember the chipped blue paint that he spent an entire afternoon reapplying when he was 12, working over ten hours straight with Yuuko and Takeshi Nishigori, the boy who had teased Yuuri relentlessly when they were younger.  
Yuuko and Takeshi were the only people that Yuuri knew had never once lost their colours. There was a brief period when Yuuko's mother had died and Yuuko's world dimmed a little. However, Takeshi was there, as always to pick up the pieces. It took a while before they both realised that they hadn't lost their colours for a reason, but when they did, Yuuri was the first person they told.

Love had always surrounded Yuuri, whether he actively felt it or not. Skating was the only thing that reminded him of the colourful world his anxiety had forced him out of, but lately he was losing that, too. He focussed on his routine, spinning into the final position, almost falling when he thought he saw something.

The flash of Yuuko's auburn hair.

The music wound to a close, and Yuuri held his final position for a few seconds into the silence. Suddenly, Yuuko erupted into applause and loud cheers. The sound travelled easily in the cold room.

"Yuuri! That was amazing! It was exactly the same as Victor's routine!" She squealed, slamming her hands on the barrier. Yuuri slid over to retrieve his glasses, shrugging modestly.

"I tried it a couple of times in Detroit, but that was the first time I've landed all the jumps," he said, panting slightly as he spoke.

"Amazing!" She reached over the barrier and hugged him, and again Yuuri would have sworn her hair flickered into life.

They had tea together before Yuuri decided he should head home, jogging again through the now dark town. It still looked the same, much to his relief.  
Nothing had changed.

* * *

Yuuri woke the next day to several missed calls, a stream of notifications his phone could barely keep up with and someone banging on his door.

Disoriented, he sat up, shouting out to whoever was on the other side of the door to go away.

"Yuuri Katsuki, how dare you try and go viral without telling me!" Minako's voice yelled through the door, which she was still pounding with her fist.

"Huh?" Yuuri muttered, more to himself. He had accidentally slept until 2:30pm, his body succumbing to the jet lag despite his best efforts.

A thud made him jump, and he realised his phone had been ringing. Snatching it up, he swiped to answer, immediately regretting his decision. Shrill voices burst into life in his hand, and they continued to bicker for about 20 seconds before a low voice cut through the noise.

"Yuuri, I'm sorry, the triplets-" the male voice was cut off by more shrieking in the background. Yuuri cut the call, and scrambled to his desk for his glasses.

The triplets had uploaded a video of his routine. And overnight, it had amassed a million hits.

His phone clattered to the floor, and his breathing increased. He could feel his throat closing up slightly. A panic attack was inevitable. Minako slammed into the room, but froze when she recognised Yuri's warning signs.  
Unable to think, Yuuri bolted.

* * *

 It had been two days since the video had been uploaded, and the damage as done. Yuuri had turned his phone off, disconnected all of his social media accounts from his laptop, and spent those days in bed. His mom brought him food, which he gratefully accepted. The days blurred. He had almost managed to watch all of his favourite childhood films when there was a knock at his door.

"Yuuri, it's Time to stop moping. Come outside and help your dad shovel the snow," his mom cheerfully called. He could hear her footsteps retreating down the hallway.

Snow. In April?

He threw his curtains open to a white world. The light grey petals that still desperately clung to the blossom trees seemed darker than they should be, against the blanket that covered the gardens. Yuuri rubbed his eyes in disbelief.

Grateful for something productive to do after ignoring his desire to skate, he slipped into his winter coat. The shovelling was hard, and his muscles screamed for a break, but he worked throughout the morning, pushing through his exhaustion to finish the job.

By about noon, he was hungry, so he trudged back to the building, only to be stopped by a dog in the doorway. A large poodle, with perfect grey curls, and large, loving eyes stared up at him, before tackling him to the ground.

"V-Vicchan?" Yuuri subconsciously ruffled the dog's fur, allowing it to lick his face enthusiastically. If it wasn't Vicchan, it must be-

No. It wasn't possible, but Yuri's heart fluttered slightly.

"He's lovely isn't he? And he looks just like Vicchan! He came here not long ago, his owner's taking a bath in the springs. Handsome fellow, speaks with a funny accent-" Yuuri shot up, pushing the dog and his dad aside to run through the halls. He could hear his heart behind his ears, and though there was no other logical explanation as to who the dog was, he couldn't will himself to believe it until he saw.

Bursting through the shower room, his glasses immediately steamed up, blocking his view. His hands desperately rubbed the lenses. He wasn't here.

The outdoor baths were usually quiet when the weather turned. Yuuri ran through to the small men's garden, skidding to a halt when he saw him.

In the large bath in the centre of the garden was Victor Nikiforov. Yuuri's heart was in his mouth. He couldn't breathe. The steam clogged his throat.

Victor stood up, the water cascading from his toned shoulders and legs and splashing into the light blue pool.

Light blue.

"Yuuri Katsuki," Victor proclaimed, holding out his hand gracefully. His skin was tinged pink from the steam, and behind him, Yuuri's peripheral vision refused to believe the numerous blue splashes that jumped into life on the tile work.

"Starting today, I'm going to be your coach. And you're going to win."


	4. Sea Green, See Blue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri struggles with understanding why Victor is in Japan. 
> 
> And news travels to Russia.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, new chapter! Hope people are reading this ~~

Any oxygen that should have been going to Yuuri's head had stopped long ago. Finally, after an agonising pause he exhaled, blinking against the colour that blossomed before him.

No. It wasn't possible.

Before he could adjust, his view shifted, and the world appeared grey once more.

Victor smiled confidently, arm still outstretched. Yuuri stepped forward, taking the taller man's hand, shaking it with clammy fingers. The warm, soft skin felt alien to Yuuri, so he quickly snatched his hand back.

"Are... are you sure this is what you want?" He offered sheepishly, unsure of where he should look. The tiles danced along the walls, flickers of blue and green always on the periphery of Yuuri's eyesight. He could just see the blue frames of his glasses, but before he could process it, the pigment vanished.

"Of course, Yuuri," Victor drawled, the coy smile still playing on his lips. It was the first time Yuuri had spoken English since returning to Japan, and the feel of the language in his mouth made him homesick for Detroit. He swallowed.

"Okay well, we'll have to get you a room," Yuuri muttered, turning on his heel and slamming his way back into the building. His heart pounded in his ears still, deafening when coupled with his hyperventilation. He bumped into Mari, who he pulled into the closest linen closet without thinking. She yelped as he slammed the door shut.

"Yuuri, what-" she stopped when she saw his face.

"Victor. Victor," was all he could manage, awkwardly slumping against the wall with his head in his hands.

"Who, Nikiforov?" Mari asked, not sure what he had to do with anything. Yuuri nodded.

"He's _here_ , Mari. In the _hot_ _springs_ ," he didn't even sound convincing to himself, but Mari knew he was being truthful. She grabbed his hand and yanked him out of the closet. They ran to the top floor, and into the only free room that was available that week. Mari was familiar with the work required to prepare a room. Her skilled hands worked quickly, and even completed Yuuri's delegated tasks. Within 15 minutes, she was satisfied with the last minute space. Yuuri was not, but he had faith in his sister.

Slowly, they descended through the levels of the inn, Mari stopping every couple of minutes to straighten some vase or picture frame as they walked.

"So, why is he here?" Mari ventured, not looking at her brother.

"He, uh, he wants to be my coach," he replied. They were now on the bottom floor, and Mari turned to Yuuri incredulously.

"Your _coach_?!" She exclaimed, excitement displacing the doubt in her eyes. Yuuri shrugged.

"I don't know why," he entered the main restaurant first, surprised to see Victor lying on the floor. There was an empty bowl on the table, alongside a bottle of sake with the cork popped. The dark green bottle stood out against the grey table; Yuuri shook the colour from his sight before turning back to Victor.

He was curled up on the floor, snuggling up to Makkachin, who was gently snoring in his arms. Victor's smooth, grey hair fell across his face delicately. Even in his sleep he looked exhausted. His dark green robe was slightly lighter than the bottle of sake, swamping his limbs and spreading across the wood floor.

Yuuri stared in amazement. His mind was struggling to comprehend the sheer volume of information it had received in the last hour.

Living Legend Victor Nikiforov was currently asleep in his family's onsen. And he wanted to be Yuuri's coach.

As he watched the sleeping forms on the floor, he noticed the colour of his frames again just out of sight. His excitement was clearly influencing this, as there was no way that Victor was his soulmate. For one thing, the colour would have made him feel something, anything. It would be overwhelming, and it would have burst into being with more intensity than these teasing flickers.

His quiet was disturbed when Minako barrelled in, demanding that he explain what was happening. When she saw Victor, her eyes widened.

"Yuuri. Why, why is he sleeping? In one of the inn's robes?" She pointed, as though Yuuri couldn't see what was in front of him.

"He fell asleep after dinner, it must have been a long flight," Yuuri shrugged, trying to bring Minako's voice to the same level as his. This was futile.

"It's all over the internet, there are rumours that he's retiring from figure skating, and he's planning his next move, and you are that move. He saw your video, and loved it so much that he just bought a one way ticket to Japan. You inspired him, Yuuri. You brought him here," Minako babbled, both excitement and annoyance altering the cadence in her voice.

" _What_?!" Yuuri exclaimed, clutching his chest in surprise. Minako laughed lightly, lowering herself to the floor in one swift movement. Her grace as a dancer influenced her every move.

Suddenly, after sneezing himself awake, Victor sat up, pulling Makkachin into his lap. He yawned widely, exposing perfect teeth and a pink tongue. No; it was grey too.

"Is there any more food?" He sluggishly asked Yuuri, turning to face him again.

"My mom can cook you whatever you want," Yuuri offered, leaning forward. Victor thought for a moment, before nodding.

"What's your favourite, Yuuri? Could she make me that? I need to know. If I'm going to be your coach we should know everything about each other," Victor also leaned forward, eyes trained on Yuuri.

"Katsudon. She can make you that, I usually only eat them when I win a competition," Yuuri turned to call his mom into the room while Victor pondered.

"I wonder, have you eaten it much lately?" He queried, tilting his head like a puppy. Yuuri nodded.

"Oh I've eaten it almost every day since being home," he admitted proudly.

"Hmm, but you haven't won anything?" Victor's question was genuine, but the thought still stung slightly.

Luckily, Hiroko entered, having already cooked a batch for the guests at the onsen. She placed the bowl down for Victor, before turning and watching with bated breath. Everyone in the room watched, waiting for the first bite. Victor carefully picked up a slice of steaming pork, admiring the shine of the egg that clung to the chopstick. Gently, he popped the pork into his mouth. The room was silent.

"Vkusno!" Victor shouted, making both Yuuri and Minako jump. Hiroko just laughed, before heading back to the kitchen.

"Yuuri, your mother is a fantastic cook," Victor grinned, his mouth forming a perfect heart shape. Yuuri's heart fluttered. He'd had a crush on Victor even when he was younger, and his body was stuck on how to actually respond to Victor being sat in front of him. So it settled for awkward.

"Yuuri doesn't usually eat it during competitions because he gains weight so easily," Minako admitted, earning her a dig in the ribs. Victor nodded.

"Of course that is one of my conditions. Yuuri. You must be in peak physical condition before I can train you, like your weight last year at the Grand Prix Finals. That was optimum, so no more cutlet bowls before you win me a medal, okay, little piggy?" His tone was playful, and his eyes twinkled at Yuuri, before he returned his focus to his food. Again, there was no malice in his voice, but it still made Yuuri cringe a little.

Before he could respond, Mari tripped into the room. Boxes and boxes with Russian characters and post marks for air travel lined the corridor. Victor just nodded, as if it were obvious.

"Ah, would you mind taking them to my room?" Victor winked at Yuuri, who gulped in response.

"Erm-"

* * *

Finally, after what felt like hours, Victor's room was stacked high with the boxes he had scattered around the communal area when he had arrived. Yuuri didn't know how long he planned on staying here, but by the looks of it he was going to be around for a while.

Falling to his knees after dropping the final box on the floor, Yuuri tried to hide his breathlessness. Victor just laughed, eyes wildly roaming the room that would be his home for the foreseeable future.

"Wow, this is amazing! Is there a sofa?" Victor peeked behind the boxes as he spoke, but Yuuri shook his head.

"This is usually a storage room, we didn't know you were coming," he trailed off awkwardly, watching the labels on the boxes dance into life. His heart was fluttering.

"You seem tense. Why don't I charge you when you've won something? Until then you won't have to worry about paying me," Victor joined Yuuri on the floor, his voice lowering as his body crouched over the box between them. "Yuuri, I want to know everything about you." His slender fingers gently brushed the soft skin under Yuuri's chin, and his other hand stroked the inside of Yuuri's wrist.

The Japanese was sure that Victor would be able to feel his pulse. Maybe he could hear his racing heart, they were so close. Dust particles played in the tense air between them; Yuuri gulped.

"Let's build some trust in this relationship," Victor leaned closer, his voice now a husky whisper. His fingertips left a burning trail against Yuuri's now pale skin, and an agonising moment passed.

Yuuri flinched, screeching slightly as he threw himself back, away from the burning skin he was sure had left blisters. He blinked, trying to look past the foggy colour that was suddenly pulsing into reality before him. Breathing heavily, it was a few seconds before he could focus enough to see Victor, who looked slightly hurt.

"Yuuri? Why are you running away?" His voice sounded normal again.

"Uh, nothing," Yuuri breathed, trying not to fall into a panic attack.

He excused himself, practically running through the inn to his bedroom, where he slammed the door shut and fell against it. His heart was pounding, and he tried to focus on the features of his room while he regulated his breathing.

The posters that lined his walls were bursting into life; Victor's colourful skating costumes the first things to retain colour. Slowly, the pale grey walls grew lighter, fading into a soft green. A migraine pressed against Yuuri's eyelids.

How? How had this happened?

His medication lay on the desk in an orange bottle. He never realised they were bright pink, and he marvelled at the colour before taking two.

While the tablets settled into his system, he noticed that the colours started to fade again. That wasn't supposed to happen when you met your soulmate, he reasoned. It helped him calm down.

How could he think Victor was his soulmate?

Victor was a national hero. He was the most decorated figure skater in the world. Suave, handsome, charming, and he had travelled the world so many times. He'd met hundreds, thousands of people. He must have met his soulmate by now.

And Yuuri was a dime-a-dozen JSF certified figure skater. Sure, he had beaten the other younger skaters to the Grand Prix Final, but he had let his own mental health hold him back. He would never be able to skate at the same level as Victor. There was nothing he could do to come close to Victor, and there was no way this hadn't seeped into his biology.

Soulmates were compatible. They had to be. The only couples he knew that had found their true colours were his own parents and the Nishigoris. Technically, the latter hadn't ever lost their colours, but still. These were couples that he had shaped his own searches around. While in Detroit he had briefly dated a girl at college, but neither of them ever saw anything more than monochrome.

His thoughts were interrupted with a voice at the end of the hallway, calling his name.

"Yuuri, let's have a sleepover! Let's get to know each other," a fist banged against the door, overlapping the keen voice. A flicker, the brown beams that stretched across Yuuri's ceiling only flashed playfully before remaining dark grey.

Eventually, Victor gave up. Six feet padded back down the corridor, and finally Yuuri could breathe.

He had to tell someone.

* * *

The sun was setting in St Petersburg. However, Yuri Plisetsky was unaware of the time passing outside the rink. He was aggressively skating through some jumps he still struggled to land, determined to reach 100% accuracy before Wednesday. Yakov shouted something across the rink, which naturally he ignored.

It had only been a day since Victor had slunk into the rink, and he usually appeared later than this. A nagging in the back of Yuri's mind told him that Victor should be here. Why wasn't he here by now?

He closed his eyes, throwing himself into a triple salchow, and nailing it. Cold blades cut across the thick ice, overwriting the tracks he had made earlier. His muscles screamed against this final jump. It was time to head home. Slowly, he slid across the ice, snatching his phone up from the barrier as he went. Yuri was always graceful, but he stumbled as he walked without his guards on. Luckily, he was alone, but it didn't stop him from swearing to the floor in English.

By the time he got to the changing rooms he had answered his Grandpa's long, typo-riddled text message. A small smile played along his lips, and he obliged for a brief moment.

A news story popped up as a notification, and he clicked mindlessly. He wished he hadn't.

> _**From Russia With Love: Victor Nikiforov Lands in Tokyo.**_
> 
> Victor Nikiforov, 27, was spotted by fans at Haneda Airport this afternoon, further sparking rumours that he is taking a break from his career to coach top Japanese figure skater Yuuri Katsuki.
> 
> After winning his fifth consecutive gold medal at the Grand Prix last year, and dominating both the European and World competitions, it was unclear as to what Nikiforov planned for his next season. Despite being three years older than the conventional retirement age, Nikiforov showed no signs of slowing down last season.
> 
> He may be in Japan for some long-awaited downtime, but this is highly unlikely. Sources suggest that his taxi took him to Katsuki's hometown of Hasetsu, which, if true, proves the rumours that he is retiring from figure skating.

Yuri nearly cracked his phone screen in anger, clutching the device too tightly. He slammed it into the bench next to him, and started to unlace his skates. His anger blinded him, so he failed to notice that the Russian team logo had faded slightly, the red dulled drastically against the white background.

Victor owed him, and he would make damn sure that he came through on his promise.


End file.
